Pavi's Reason
by ahiddenbanshee
Summary: There's always a reason behind outrageous behavior. There's a reason behind Pavi's masks. A traumatic reason of course, what other sort of reason would it be?


Paviche Largo had a face of his own once. The one he was born with. A handsome face that sent many a woman (and many a man) swooning. But it was one woman that had captured his interest. One lucky diamond he'd found among the rough. Most would say they were matched in beauty Heaven. Rosaline and Paviche, the acclaimed, impeccably gorgeous couple of the media. Their relationship was treated like some sort of fairy tale story. Pavi, 'the prince' of GeneCo, had chosen a woman, 'a commoner', to be his. His wife, his princess, his. His Rosaline. They were perfect together. They were like royalty together, even the public adored them. The day the annoucement was made the that Rosaline Quinn, an authentic, wide-eyed girl of Sanitarium Island, would become a Largo, the entire isle went wild. A princess, unquestionably. Even Rotti was overjoyed by the news, Carmela and Luigi too. Rosaline had grown on all of the Largo's. She was woman that couldn't be despised, loathed or abhorred. And Rotti believed the engagement and wedding publicity would do wonders for GeneCo, though buisness was booming as usual, extra attention couldn't hurt. Behind closed doors he began leaning toward signing GeneCo off to Pavi when the time came to pass the company down, a statement he would be making publicly at the reception.

Two weeks before the wedding, prepartions were already in order for the much anticipated union of the prince and his bride. It was an absolute event. The whole world would literally stop- shut down- just to witness the marriage binding. But just as unexpected and unwanted as any tragedy is, it still struck. GENcops, ambulances, fire engines, bystanders all attest to the result of _it_.

**The Crash**.

As it would historically be referred to. It was a head on collision. Both cars front ends were crunched beyond repair, gasoline, engine oil and blood seeped from the vehicles. The firemen worked fast to help the people encased in what used to be cars. One average sedan and one Maserati. There was no doubt in anyones mind about who owned _that_ car... They just didn't want to believe it... They had all read it, front page headlines in tabloids and newpapers, _'Early wedding present to the future Mrs. Paviche Largo, Rosaline Quinn, a classic, 2012, maroon Maserati, from soon-to-be brother-in-law, Luigi Largo. The personalised license plate reads, 'R. Largo', a delicate, hand painted rose between the letters, a special attachment gift given by Carmela Largo. It's obvious the love is ample and eagerness is apparent for Ms. Quinn to join this family and...{ continued on page 10 }'_

And looking at the undamaged customized plate, hearts began to race and response teams worked quicker. The windshield was destroyed, completely shattered, and roof smashed over, caved in. EMT's stood by with a stretcher, ready to take Rosaline and transport her at top speeds to the nearest hospital [Marianna General, the newest hospital Rotti had created and named after his late wife]. The other driver had suffered a deep gash to his forehead and a mild concussion, but his attending medics were far less concerned about him, all concerns were focussed on _the princess_. The jaws of life cut away at the expensive cars exterior, the drivers side inside the vehicle was exposed. They'd never seen so much blood.

A fireman reached in and with as much care as possible retrieved her body, and placed her gently on the stretcher just a few feet away. The medics went to work, but even they were momentarily stunned by the extend of the damage. They rushed with the stretcher into the back of the ambulance and started their journey to the hospital. The whole way the team of EMT's worked their very hardest in trying to get a response out of Rosaline Quinn. The most severe of the damage had come to her face. Shards of glass from the windshield had shattered and impaled into her skin. After all the pieces of glass were removed she was still unrecognizable. All the blood and wounds, areas of bone... it was terrible... only her eyes could identify her if she would just open them. But the medical men and woman were starting to tear up when only a flatline sounded throughout the small room of the vehicle...

Pavi was the last to arrive at the hospital. Breathless and heart pounding painfully against his ribs in fear as he was directed to the mortuary. The mortuary where he found his family. All at once they glanced up at him, the sorrow, the pain, evident in their expressions. Carmela sobbed into Luigi's chest but everything seemed to slow down to an agonizing pace for Pavi, everything muted except for the vigorous thumping of his heart beat in his ears. His steps toward the table where something lay covered with a sheet were the slowest and most distressing of his life, he stood beside his father. The mortician gave Pavi a solemn glance before raising the sheet.

A cry of excruciating pain unlike any other escaped his throat when he saw her. Body bruised, cold, and still. Face -her once beautiful, beautiful face- destroyed, mutilated, indistinguishable. His Rosaline. On the freezing steel slab before him... Lifeless... For a moment, he almost believed it wasn't her, but he knew. He knew her so well, inside and out, by just the lone freckle on her collarbone he could tell that was her. His wails echoed horribly throughout the entire hospital, all could hear Pavi's pain, all could hear the way his heart had just been ripped from his chest. His father put a hand on his shoulder and the sheet was replaced...

The entire world shut down two weeks later, just as it would for the wedding. Everyone dressed in black, a candle lit, a rose bought at a shop or cut from a garden. The day that would have Pavi Largo's wedding was now Rosaline Quinn's funeral. It was a closed casket ceremony. Live media feed. Everyone felt the ache, the sadness, the lose. But no one felt it as much as Pavi did. Rosaline was his best friend, his mate, his companion. She was going to be his wife. They were going to be... so happy together. He watched the coffin lower into the ground... His love, his everything, his... She was gone...

As much love Pavi felt for Rosaline doubled in grief as he continued living on without her. The days seemed to just drag on and on and on, and life just seemed so trivial. To just simply live was an exhausting effort. The day of the month after all stories of Rosaline left the news, the papers, and magazines -6 months, 3 weeks and 2 days, according to the middle Largo- is the day the grief disappeared and the madness took over.

'_Breaking News! GeneCo's own middle heir, Pavi Largo, 28, has been hospitalised after what appears and is assumed to be a horrific accident. Mr. Largo was seen rolled in by stretcher into the emergency room of Marianna General after the police received a frantic call from Carmela Largo, 21, explaining how she found her brother in his private suite's bathroom surrounded in a pool of his own blood. Further statements have not been released on the status of Mr. Largo...'_

For a while he sat in thought. But then as the thoughts became more tempting and provoking he found himself walking, and his hand was nestled deep within his pocket, clutched around a simple pocket knife. It had taken Pavi seconds to locate him [GeneCo's records], but it had taken him at least 2 hours to arrive where he lived. More than enough time to reconsider what exactly he had planned, but he was sure -too sure- about his plan. He knew what he was doing, how he was doing to do it -positively going through with it- because he knew precisely why he was going to do it. Pavi was never really a violent man, not even as a child, but when the door opened and the culprit, the bastard, the reason for his despair was revealed, he became some kind of ravenous animal.

He pushed the man back into the crummy apartment, and slammed the door shut before landing a heavy punch to his gut. The man crumbled, so startled by the sudden hit he couldn't utter a sound, but Pavi wrenched him to stand up again, seizing a fist full of his hair and ramming the mans head into the nearest wall. Again and again he drove and shoved the mans skull to the hard place until blood started to stain the wall and drip down. Tossing the man away like a bloodied rag doll, Pavi paused to breathe, letting the wretch fall gracelessly to the floor before kicking him mercilessly in the stomach and ribs. A final kick was given to his face, the man coughed blood and struggled for breath, but Pavi was unrelenting. He stepped over the man and looked at him, a crazed, yet somewhat peaceful look in Pavi's eyes as he came to stoop above him and pulled out knife from his pocket. Without any final words offered from either man, Pavi jammed the dull blade into the man's throat and watched him choke with sick amusement until after a long 3 minutes he lay motionless, soundless, beaten and dead. The man had been Brutus Kasimir. The man that had survived the fatal collision that had taken Rosaline Quinn's life.

Everything was balanced now. Pavi should have felt the justice restored. But he felt nothing. He still felt alone. Still felt cold, sad and angry. He call a cab to take him home, back to GeneCo Tower where he walked almost like a zombie through reception, through the halls, to the elevator and to his apartment suite.

The knife bloodied by Brutus Kasimir dropped from his grasp and on to the carpet. He paid no mind to the white fluffy floor becoming stained with evidence... evidence of a murder... evidence of his thrist for balance unquenched. Pavi continued to the bathroom and flicked the switch for the light on. It blinding and he squinted at it for a moment until his vision cleared... and he saw his reflection. There -in the mirror- he saw himself. Spattered with blood on the front of his shirt and sleeves, and some on his pants, underneath his fingers nails and a spray on the left side of his face... His face. He and Rosaline had been matched in beauty, flawless faces, symmetrical, correctly porportioned, perfect skin, teeth, eyes. They were matched. And as he thought about how beautiful his beloved had once been and was now slowly decomposing in the ground with a disfigured face... he could only think of one thing. The means to create balance. They were matched, weren't they? Then why did he still have an unmarred complexion? His hands seemed to move of their own accord, agreeing with his idea, but his eyes remained on his image in the mirror. His hands searched through the top drawer under the sink until he finally found what he wanted. A straight razor. It was a gift from his father, something of an heirloom, what gave the cleanest of shaves. He unfolded it, and finally tore his gaze away from himself to glance at it...

Later, some would say he raised the blade to his face without proper thought... though others would claim he knew exactly what he was doing...

They were the same now. Pavi and Rosaline. He felt the pain that she had, but he wasn't lucky enough to slip away like she did. His family asked him why, counselors asked him why. But they knew -sincerely, quietly, they kept it to themselves though- they knew what his actions meant, knew the cause. His madness had compelled him to disfigure his own face, cutting and slicing at it and successful pulling off an entire portion of flesh from the right side of his face -from his cheek bone to his upper lip. There was no way to fix the damage. Nothing had been developed yet. Rotti put a team together immediately to create the 'Replace Your Face' surgery. Anything to save his boy's appearance and set things right again.

But things would never be right again... Not when Pavi's DNA would be collected at the scene of Mr. Kasimir's brutal death at his apartment. Rotti cleaned it up, cleaned it for his disoriented son... His poor boy... This was only the beginning...

He wears masks now. Steals faces. The faces of beautiful women. To cover his true form. He searches for the perfect face, one that resembles Rosaline's, but none could hold a candle to her features -none ever will. But with each mask he feels a sense of closure, a sense of happiness. As if he's covering up the damage for the both of them, like they shared the face. He wishes to see **her** every time he glances in a mirror -any reflective surface- he wants to see **her**. See her as she was. But he never will. Even in his memory her face was fading, just the image of her destroyed face from the morgue flashed in his mind. His beautiful Rosaline, his princess, _**his**_... he would never find the perfect face for her. But he would still search, skin and wear his prizes. A woman's face to hide his was all that could satisfy him now.

But time passes, and memories fade, the darkest of recollections just become the worst of mortifying nightmares. He's not sure why he kills, steals and wears faces of women. He's not sure how or why his face underneath the mask is so horrid. He has an accent, something ridiculous and obnoxious his mind created to make him forget his real voice, the way he used to speak, the way he'd spoken to **her**. He finds the company of GENterns comforting- pretty naive girls- the more that flock to him the more he feels a void being filled. He isn't sure what the void is or why it's there, though. And he doesn't understand why Amber and Luigi go to 'visit' **someone** every year on their family's old estate, he wonders if he should come with them but they tell him it's better if he stayed away. They tell him it's better _this_ way. And he wonders if he ever was any other way. '_The Pavi was born like'a this, no?_' And they just agree. They've forgotten how their brother and son was before... Just like he has...

Rosaline Quinn and Paviche Largo were only memories now, ideas of what used to be.  
>And everyone, but <em>The<em> Pavi himself, knows exactly why he wears those masks.

end


End file.
